


The Blizzard

by Aftenstjerne



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types
Genre: AddamsFamilyXChange2020, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gomez The Panty Ripper, Merry Christmas, blizzard, panty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aftenstjerne/pseuds/Aftenstjerne
Summary: Morticia is late for the Christmas dinner at the Charity club and all her panties are gone. Just some smutty fluff to get you in the holliday mood.
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Addams Family Holiday Exchange





	The Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Christmas Exchange. Prompt number 11: Snowed in, alone together during a blizzard, aka Gomez's gift to Morticia.  
> Thanks to helloitshaley for betaing. Merry Christmas!

It was a week before Christmas Day and Morticia was in a hurry. She barely had time for a shower after decorating the arsenic pudding, her contribution to the Christmas dinner at the Charity club. The weather guy on the radio said that a blizzard would hit New York tonight, and she wanted to make it down to the club while the roads were still open. Now she searched through the numerous drawers and closets in her dressing room, looking for a pair of clean panties. Although she often enjoyed going commando, especially when accompanied by her husband, the chill winter air forced her to be more modest this time.

Corsets, bras and stockings fell to the floor while Morticia’s long, wet hair dripped down her naked back. She had not done her makeup yet. She should not have spent so much time on that blasted pudding. Morticia was a perfectionist in everything, and perfectionism took time. She needed her makeup to be on fleek too, but first of all, she needed to find a pair of panties. Not the tiniest little thong was in sight, and who was to blame? Her husband, of course. Dear Gomez and his panty ripping kink had left her in a real pinch.

After she had rummaged through the whole room, Morticia saw no other solution than to borrow something from one of the other members of the household. But from who? Wednesday had still not reached that age where mother and daughter could steal each other’s clothes. Her mother only wore those horrible knee length things for old ladies, which Morticia had sworn never to wear even if she lived to be a hundred years old. That left her with no other choice than to borrow something from Gomez.

Luckily, he had left the door to his dressing room unlocked before going to work this morning. She headed straight for the drawer where she knew he kept his vast collection of various boxers. Hopefully, she would find something with laces at the waist.

“Tish? Cara mia, what are you doing in here?”

Startled by the sudden sound of her husband’s voice, she dropped the silk boxers and twisted her upper body to look over her shoulder.

“Stop right there,” he said, his voice low and amused.

“Hold that position. Tish, you are a vision!” He flung out his arm in a dramatic gesture and she sighed a little.

“I’m late, darling, that’s what I am.” She blew a few strands of wet hair away from her face.

“Besides, I thought you were in a meeting,” she added as if that was a legitimate excuse for her to go through his personal belongings. There was an unspoken rule between them that their dressing rooms were private space. However, her husband did not seem to care, she was after all naked and right now that was all he could focus on.

If he did hear her, he chose to ignore her comment.

“My wife!” he exclaimed, all worked up and theatrical, the fine golden threads in his waistcoat gleaming in the sparse light as he strutted towards her. She assumed it had been a long day of negotiations, she could tell by the shadows under his eyes and the way his dark hair oppressed the regime of his pomade. Usually, Morticia was not the one to deny him access to her body when he needed it the most, but tonight she had her mind set on being out of their house on time. 

“A statue cut from alabaster, adorned only in the humble light of one incorrectly connected light bulb. Contrasting so beautifully towards the dark wood of my undergarment commode. What have I done, I ask myself, to deserve such a divine sight? Let alone, on a Tuesday.”

His eyes travelled shamelessly up and down her exposed body and she cursed the jolts of tingling heat coursing through her chest and stomach area to linger in her groin. There was really no time for this.

“Poetic tonight, darling?” she whispered as he stopped right behind her, the heat radiating from him causing every fine hair on her body to rise as goose bumps spread across her skin.

“Over worked,” he sighed, his mouth against her hair and his arm snaking around her waist, pulling her towards his body.

“Exhausted, drained, driven to the brink of my sanity by certain people’s infinite stupidity,” he muttered, resting his hot forehead against her shoulder.

“Tish, I need you.”

She lifted one delicate hand to stroke his hair, taking a moment to enjoy the familiar feeling of grease underneath her palm.

“I’m on my way to the Charity club’s Christmas dinner and I can’t be late,” she said, fighting the pleasant sensation of the open-mouthed kisses he placed on her neck and shoulders.

“Then why are you in my dressing room going through my collection of undergarments?” he asked, lifting his head from her shoulder to look her in the eyes.

“Querida, is this some new fetish of yours? Because if it is, I want to hear about it. I need to know exactly what you wanted to do with my silk boxers.”

His eyes dropped to the open drawer before they found hers again.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it will soon be a fetish of mine too.”

“Well, darling,” she said, backing a little to create some space between their bodies, attempting to prevent herself from giving into her basic instincts.

“I was going to wear one of them.”

“Oh, I like that,” he groaned, his hand reaching out to grab the supple flesh of her rear, forcing Morticia to take a step forward in order to keep her balance.

She could not help but moan when she felt the rough fabric of his shirt brush against her nipples.

“Out of pragmatic reasons,” she said, focusing hard on regaining the control over her voice.

“Really?” Gomez lifted her chin and kissed her on the mouth, his lips barely touching hers.

“It’s all your fault,” she sighed, not entirely sure if she referred to the ripped panties or the way he was kissing her, making her hot and tingly and aching in all the right places.

“Why?” Gomez whispered, his moustache tickling the sensitive skin on her neck.

“Explain it to me.”

His lips traced the curves of her breasts and she shivered with pleasure.

“You have…” she bit her lip and moaned as his hot mouth closed around her nipple “…wrecked my very last pair of panties.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Gomez rasped, his hands sliding over the curves of her hips to caress the soft inside of her thighs.

“Panties are made for being ripped. They’re like gift paper. If you really want the gift, you always tear off the paper.”

“And–,” Morticia continued, feeling her self-control melting away like snow around a bonfire, “you have to stop what you’re doing, because I’m late for the Charity club.”

“You’re always late for the Charity club,” he replied, his mouth brushing over her damp hair.

“You’re either sleeping too long, or spending too much time in front of the mirror or you and I are…”

“Gomez Addams, I hate you”, she half hissed, half moaned as his hand slid between her thighs.

“I hear you say so, yet your body contradicts you.”

Morticia went quiet, overpowered by the exquisite pleasure of his intimate caresses. 

“I’ve had this fantasy for quite a while now,” Gomez said, slowly twisting his fingers inside her. “You, on your knees on the floor of my dressing room.”

“For….mmmh….exactly how long have you had that fantasy?”

He glanced at the Rolex on his left wrist before he pulled out his antique pocket watch, making a quick calculation.

“For exactly eleven minutes and thirty seconds.”

“Make it real then,” she breathed, succumbing to his will and to her own desires.

“And make me come. I give you ten minutes.”

“Cara, I swear to you, I’ll make it ten minutes you’ll never forget.” 

Twenty minutes later, Morticia kissed her husband goodbye, her face glowing in a way that makeup could never replicate.

“I’ll wait up for you,” he whispered, catching her in a lingering embrace.

“Don’t forget your pudding.”

Morticia tore herself from his arms, bracing herself for the winter cold.

When she opened the front door, she was met by Lurch and a violent gush of wind scattering snow all over the black and white marble tiles in the hall.

“ _The car…is... stuck_ ,” the butler groaned, closing the door behind him.

“Oh,” Morticia replied, feeling an undeniable tinge of relief.

“I guess I’ll have to stay home then.”

“That was a fast dinner,” Gomez said, his voice muffled by the cigar in his mouth. He was relaxing casually in front of the fire, shoes off and shirt unbuttoned.

“The blizzard is here and the car got stuck in the snow.”

Morticia sighed as she walked over to her husband, lowering herself onto his lap.

“Poor Lurch, he was looking forward to driving on the slippery roads.” 

“Poor you, who’ll miss all the latest gossip,” Gomez replied, fidgeting with the shoe strap around her ankle.

“I think I’ll survive,” she whispered, tugging at his chest hairs as her stilettos fell to the floor with a thud.

“Good.”

He threw his cigar into the flames and kissed her right beneath the noble curve of her cheekbone.

“So tell me, querida, what do you prefer?”

“Que?”

“Silk…satin…or lace?”

He punctuated each word with a kiss in the gap between her breasts and she tilted her head back, purring like a cat.

“Does it matter? You’ll probably rip them too.”

“Most likely, I will. But you are still allowed to have preferences when it comes to your Christmas gifts.”

“Surprise me,” she whispered, raking her nails through his hair while he gave her that half-lidded lascivious look that she loved. 

“And get those boxers off me.” She wriggled in his lap and he moaned as she grinded against his erection.

“They have some unpleasant curious tendencies.”

He chuckled and kissed her on the mouth.

“I’ll go shopping tomorrow, I promise.”


End file.
